London, 1815

Lady Juliana Hatfield was lost in thought as her lady’s maid set about getting her clothes ready for the Birmingham ball. The sea-green, empire waist gown must have cost my uncle a small fortune, she thought to herself. Her uncle, the Earl of Dumbrey, had been her guardian since she was four and ten when both parents were killed in a carriage accident. The earl was rumored to be as rich as the crowned prince—or seemed to be so.

Since Uncle Basil didn’t have a wife, he employed a distant relative to chaperone her during The Season. Cousin Henrietta Blackstone was a spinster who was a decade older than Juliana. Her nondescript looks—stringy black hair pulled back in a ridged fashion, and eyes nearly the color of her hair—made her an intimidating force of nature.

“Maddy, can you call for a bath? I find that I must placate my uncle and cousin. They get into such rows that books and other assorted items get thrown,” Juliana said to the maid.

“My lady, I’ve witnessed that firsthand. Why Lord Dumbrey keeps her in this house is beyond me. Excuse me for saying so, my lady,” Maddy whispered, trying to be discreet.

“It isn’t anything I haven’t thought myself, Maddy,” Juliana said plainly.

Maddy, a year younger than she, was more a friend than a lady’s maid. Juliana didn’t know Maddy’s past, and neither did she ask her friend to tell her.

Juliana made her way down the main staircase to the sound of loud arguing coming from her uncle’s study. A large tome containing her uncle’s prized Chaucer was thrown seconds before she opened the massive door.

“You told me that I only—” Henrietta said, nearly shouting.

“Henrietta, we have company!” her uncle exclaimed as Juliana found herself in between the two.

“What are you two fighting about now? Wait just a moment. I am sure I already know. I have a ball in a couple of hours, and I need a chaperone. If you don’t mind, I have to prepare.”

Juliana exited the room with a smile on her face. She knew she had just effectively stunned her chaperone. She loved causing mischief.

After all, her uncle knew she was being facetious. It was the smile in her eye and the slight wink she gave him as she strode through the open door and into the hallway that gave her away.

* * *

Marcus sat at a corner table at his club with his two friends—Jacob Spencer, the Earl of Blackridge, and Aaron Murray, the Marquis of Elderstone. The three men were part of the Rakes, a group of men who had been hand-chosen since birth to be part of an ancient spy group known as the Rakes and the Crown. It was a wide network of agents, and a responsibility that was passed down from father to son. In some cases, from father to daughter.

They all had biblical assignations. Marcus, being the dark and menacing sort, was the Devil. Jacob was the opposite in almost all regards except for one thing—his appeal with the ladies. Where Marcus was dark, Jacob was light and brooding. Jacob’s light blond curls were highlighted by his sea-green eyes. He was tall, slim, and had an Adonis-like physique. He was given the moniker Angel.

Aaron wasn’t necessarily handsome in the classical sense, but his fortune and title made up for it. He wore his red hair short. His chocolate brown eyes held a sense of intelligence that the other two men lacked. Aaron was given the moniker Lucifer. He, like Marcus, spent time on the continent in the army. Ever since then, the blasted freckles wouldn’t go away. Which, in and of itself, was a social faux pas. This didn’t seem to bother the ladies at all, since he was the biggest Rake of them all.

“Marc, I hear your mother is hounding you to get yourself a wife. You poor sod!” Aaron said, chuckling to himself.

“Aaron, you’ll be next, my friend. You know your mother has been pestering you just as much. You have to have an heir and all,” Jacob added.

“Jacob, you are the only one whose mother doesn’t have you chasing a bride.” Marcus laughed.

“My father made that choice for me years ago.” Jacob looked sullen.

Marcus and Aaron glanced at each other in complete shock. They didn’t know this about their friend. They had been friends since birth. Aaron’s estate bordered Marcus’s to the north and Jacob’s to the east.

“So, who is the lucky lady?” Aaron asked Jacob.

“Lady Charlotte MacKenzie. Apparently, the engagement was in lieu of a gambling debt.” Jacob sighed.

Marcus glanced down at his watch. He wasn’t looking forward to going to the Birmingham ball. Every single matchmaking mama would try to push her debutante daughters in front of him. He cringed internally.

“Aaron, are you going to the Birmingham ball tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m hoping to find a way out of it. All those matchmaking mamas…” Aaron squirmed in his seat.

“How about we go together? We are stronger in numbers!” Marcus exclaimed.

“Meet up at your townhouse?” Aaron asked.

“Of course!”

Marcus lifted his glass, saluted his friends, and went home to prepare himself for the night to come.